


Homecoming

by sadsparties



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Apples, Backstory, Gen, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 00:26:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadsparties/pseuds/sadsparties
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the winter of 1829 and they were home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homecoming

Or it could be said that at least one of them was home, but with Combeferre by Enjolras’s side, he felt that he was nearest to home that he could ever be. The ride to Vienne had been filled with bumps and stops for repairs, but Enjolras paid no mind. Combeferre had regaled him with stories of his own family, stories of his father long passed, of how Combeferre would stand on his shoulders to risk a peek at the garrisons, of how they would run off when a soldier had spotted his inquisitive head.

"My mother never quite got over my father," Combeferre mused aloud, the passing tree branches sending shadows across his face, “but when she remarried and had Julien, a light returned to her eyes."

Enjolras lips curled up in a smile. “I cannot wait to meet them."

After four days journey, they arrived at Poitiers. The station was full of fellow travelers hurriedly filing out, eager to warm themselves on hearths they’ve curled in a thousand times and eat at kitchens filled with their mothers’ cooking. Enjolras and Combeferre followed suit, their luggage heavy in their hands. They passed through rotundas that Combeferre had studied pigeons in, churches that he had spent hours exploring, the tenement that his childhood sweetheart used to live in. Enjolras felt that chapters of his friend’s life were being revealed to him, and he looked forward to the day that he could do the same.

He was about to ask what had become of the childhood sweetheart when Combeferre suddenly stopped walking. Wordlessly, he lay down his portmanteaux and began inspecting the long stretch of wall at their right.

Enjolras looked back at him. “Combeferre?"

"Just looking for my old handholds,” Combeferre replied, fingers sliding through the cracked surface and eyes peeled for indentations. “Aha!" he called out joyously as he spotted one of the many bits of protruding concrete. Combeferre put his right hand on one and his left foot on another. Feeling his hold secure, he began to scale the wall. With the certainty that could only come from weeks as a sparring partner, Enjolras moved below him and put up his hands ready to support. Sure enough, Combeferre’s grip loosened halfway through his exertions, and his boot found footing on Enjolras’s shoulder. Enjolras could only grunt.

"I apologize that I have to use you this way, my friend," Combeferre said in between breaths, “but I’ve wanted to show you this for a while now." He made one last heave and propped himself over the wall, his two legs dangling on opposite sides. With a triumphant smile, he offered a hand down to Enjolras. Still bewildered, Enjolras took his hand, found the footholds, and began his ascent.

From atop the enclosure, Enjolras was greeted with a clear view of row upon row of apple trees. The wall, as it turned out, had protected the small orchard from thieves, for no thief would scale an exposed wall in a town filled with soldiers. The apples on the trees were still green, but crates full of red ripe ones were littered on the ground. One of the crates was being filled by a lad of fourteen years. The boy’s sweet blue eyes spotted them, and his face filled with alarm at the men attempting to scrump their harvest. But then his eyes had found Combeferre, and at the bespectacled man, a glint of recognition sparked. Julien’s face lit up. He dropped his half-filled sack and ran to their house, all the while screaming that his brother was back.

"Make sure to get our luggage on this side when you go out!" Combeferre shouted after him affectionately. He turned to Enjolras then, and at the sight of his still confused face, he doubled over in laughter.

 “I was not aware of this unique convention of entering homes,” Enjolras bellowed over him. “It has been very enlightening.” This inspired another round of laughter and Enjolras slowly shook his head in mirth. When his belly ached too much, Combeferre took a long breath and put his hands on the back of Enjolras’s neck. He looked at him squarely in the eye and said, “Welcome home, my brother." With heart filled with gratefulness, Enjolras could only smile in return.

It was the winter of 1829 and they were home.


End file.
